


to think that we could stay the same

by outrageousfortune



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Archie Andrews, Christmas, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Teen Angst, brief grundy mention so csa tw for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outrageousfortune/pseuds/outrageousfortune
Summary: Here’s the thing: before they were Archie & Veronica and Jughead & Betty, before they were a perfect quartet crammed in a booth at Pop’s, before there were road trips and girlfriends and broken promises—before all that, they were just Jughead and Archie. And that was enough.or: sometimes, the story turns out differently, and that’s okay. featuring: holiday parties, ex-girlfriends, and important realizations.





	to think that we could stay the same

Veronica answers the door with a wide, glossy smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Archie,” she greets him, pulling him into an awkward half-hug. She smells like eggnog and sugar cookies and for some reason it bothers him that he can’t tell if she still wears the same perfume. She releases him quickly—too quickly—and, after a beat of silence, adds, “I’m really happy you came.”

“Are you kidding? A Veronica Lodge Christmas Party? Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Archie grins, even though up until the very moment he rang the doorbell he’d been strongly considering bolting back down the street.

Veronica gives an _aw shucks_ sort of shrug and steps back to let him inside. “You’re right about that, Archiekins,”  she says, taking his coat, and Archie notes with a jolt that Jughead’s ratty old jacket is hanging up there right beside the others. “My parties are pretty damn unmissable. But I can’t claim _all_ the credit this time—Betty’s hostess skills could give the Manhattan crowd a run for their money.”

It’s not much of a joke, but Archie still laughs, and then Veronica does, too, finally meeting his eyes. For the first time, things feel almost _normal_ again between them, and Archie’s desperate to hold on to that for as long as he can. He opens his mouth to say—what, exactly, he’s not sure, maybe tell her that she looks nice, because she _does_ , all shiny hair and shimmery lips, like a snow angel come to life—but Veronica must sense the shift, because her eyes fall, breaking away.

“Archie, I know this is hard for you,” she begins carefully, and Archie knows he won’t be able to hear anymore.

“Ronnie, just—” he holds up a hand— “Don’t, okay? We’re fine. We’re all friends, and we’re fine, right?”

“Right,” she says, not unkindly, and the sympathy in her voice makes him itch for escape. His eyes dart involuntarily back to his coat, his boots, but Veronica’s eyes follow as she gives a small, defeated sigh, like she’d been expecting this, and Archie is once again hit with the feeling that he’s playing into every trope of the sullen ex-boyfriend there ever was.

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all.

“I should—I should let you get back to the party,” he rushes, “but it’s really great seeing you. Honest.” And then he’s flashing a tight-lipped smile and brushing off her reaching arm until at last, safely cocooned in the warm tones of the crowd, he can finally breathe.

***

When he was 12, Archie got his first girlfriend. Carol Anne lived just north of Sweetwater River and had long, golden hair, just like the princess in that new Disney movie he’d seen with Jughead and Jellybean the week before, flowing all the way to her waist. When the sun shone, it caught the light like spun gold.

Jughead didn’t like her. But then again, Jughead didn’t like most people, especially not girls. “Why does _she_ have to come along,” he’d grumble, hat pulled sullenly over his ears, each time Archie invited her to join their weekly trips to the arcade.

“‘Cause she’s my girlfriend, that’s why,” Archie would respond, and Carol Anne would roll her eyes like _‘duh_ ,’ (probably wondering why _Jughead_ got to come along, now that he thinks about it), and Jughead would just huff and go off alone to play skee ball.

When he broke up with Carol Anne a few weeks later—she’d gotten a haircut and now looked a lot less like that princess, and plus, Archie was tired of having to give her all of his prize tickets—he’d expected Jughead to be happy.

He _hadn’t_ expected Jughead to give him the cold shoulder and ignore him for the rest of the school day. When Archie finally caught up to him on the walk home, he’d asked why. “I thought you hated Carol Anne.”

“She’s not _that_ bad,” Jughead mumbled. “And besides. You shouldn’t just—do that. It’s not right.”

“What?” Archie demanded, now more annoyed than confused. “Do what? Break up with her? Dude, we’re in junior high! It’s not like I was planning on marrying her—”

“You made a promise, didn’t you?” Jughead burst out, looking up at him with startling fierceness. “You made a—a _commitment_ to each other, and then, one day, you decided you’d had enough. And now—just like that—you’re done with her. Do you know how that—do you know what that—” He broke off and twisted the hem of his shirt around his fingers, hard, until Archie could see them turning white.

Archie suddenly got the feeling that this was about a lot more than just Carol Anne. “Hey, hold on a sec,” he said, grabbing Jughead’s arm and bringing them to a halt. “I’m never gonna do that to _you_. You know that, right?”

Jughead’s cheeks turned scarlet, and he tried to shrug out of Archie’s grip, but Archie, already a starter on the modified football team, held firm.  “That’s not what I—”

“She was just a girlfriend, not my _best friend_ , Juggie,” Archie continued, laughing a little. “I’m _never_ ditching you, you hear? You’re stuck with me. For life.”

“Aw, shut up,” Jughead muttered, but he Archie could tell he was fighting a smile.

The next day, they’d gone back to the arcade, just the two of them. In between rounds of skee-ball and air hockey, Archie had asked if Jughead and Jellybean wanted to go to the drive-in that weekend. Heard they were running the original Star Wars movies at half-price (Archie had a borderline-obsession with Luke Skywalker for reasons he couldn’t quite bring himself to explain.) They could camp out in the back of his dad’s truck and beg off snack money from their parents and fight over the last kernels of popcorn; it’d be nice, and Archie was already looking forward to it more than he’d looked forward to any date with Carol Anne.

In a cool, detached sort of voice, Jughead informed him that his mother had taken Jellybean and left for Toledo.

Archie’s flurry of questions died on his lips when he saw the look on Jug’s face—the same quiet fierceness he’d worn when he’d confronted Archie a day earlier. And Archie could understand, too well, because it’d been a year since Mary Andrews had moved to Chicago, but at least _his_ mom had begged him to come along.

It tore at his heart. But there wasn’t anything he could say, wasn’t anything he could _do_ except pull the blanket up tightly over their necks in the back of his dad’s truck, the trumpet blasts of the movie score obscuring Jughead’s sobs but not the way his body shook as he cried, and whisper, over and over, that he’s not going anywhere, that if nothing else, he’s always got Archie.

It seemed to work. But deep down, he couldn’t be sure that Jughead ever believed him.

***

When he was 16, Archie answered Jughead’s phone call on the last ring.

“Honey or Cinnamon?” Jughead demanded, the miscellaneous squeaks of the supermarket echoing with him.

Archie said nothing.

“For the graham crackers,” Jughead clarified, uncertain, after Archie was silent for a beat too long, “for the s’mores, remember? C’mon, man, the soccer moms are looking at me like vultures and if I don’t get out of this aisle quickly enough I’m afraid they’ll start pecking out my eyeballs.” Pause, again. “Arch?”

Archie took a deep breath. “Jug,” he ground out, voice heavy with rust. “I’m really, _really_ sorry, but—”

“No,” Jughead cut him off, his voice an octave too high. “No, I’m going to stop you right there, before you say what I think you’re going to say. Because you’re definitely _not_ going to tell me that you’re cancelling on our road trip, not the road trip we’ve been planning since we were kids, not the road trip that’s in _two days_ —not after you’ve already backed out of every other fucking plan we’ve made this entire summer—”

“Something came up this time, but I’ll make it up to you, I swear—”

“Forget it.” A hollow laugh; a faint metallic rattle, like a shelf slammed with a steel-toed boot. “I know what it looks like when someone’s done. Guess I was just too naive to think I’d see it on you.”

“ _Jug_ —” Click.

Archie let the phone drop to the floor. His gut twisted and he knew that this was _wrong_ , all of it, but he just—he couldn’t—

Miss Grundy plucked the phone off the ground and swayed close to him, sliding her arms around his shoulders to tuck the phone back in his pocket.  “Good boy,” she breathed in his ear, and Archie shivered, the weight of his pocket like  iron.

***

In September, a murder investigation opened, a new girl moved into town, and Archie and Jughead started school not on speaking terms for the first time in their lives.

Which was fine. Because the new girl—Veronica, or “you can call me Ronnie,” as she’d introduced herself, syllables rounded by a slight New York accent—talked enough for the both of them.

Archie didn’t know what to make of her. She blew in like a force of nature, reshaping all of Riverdale in her path—or at least, that’s how it seemed to him. She’d brought Betty out of her shell, managed to thaw Cheryl Blossom’s icy veneer, and took down a sexist douchebag—all in within a single _month_.

Geraldine told him to ignore her. Hissed that she was all plastic, no substance, not _real_ (like her, came the implication), but Archie couldn’t help the way his eyes trailed after Veronica in the hallways. Couldn’t help the way she made him feel whenever she entered a room, bright and bubbly, fizzing like champagne—she made him feel _good._  Good in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long while, not since before that day with the phone call. Not since before the day, last May, when he’d agreed to meet his music teacher for extra lessons at her home.

Gradually, Archie began to wonder if Grundy really did have his best interests at heart.

And then Veronica was kissing him in Cheryl Blossom’s coat closet, hands digging through his hair but so soft against his neck, and Archie was gone.

***

The autumn heat receded into a chill, and slowly, the town began to heal. Veronica helped him talk to his dad about what happened, and together, they were able to take Miss Grundy to court, until they were certain she’d never be able to hurt anyone else again.

He and Jughead made up. It felt inevitable, like playing out a script—Archie and Veronica, Jughead and Betty, the four of them crammed into a booth at Pop’s. Two perfect storybook pairs arranged in a perfect storybook square.

On some level, Archie knew it wasn’t real. Knew Jughead didn’t trust him the same way. Knew that whatever they had now was only a pale shade of how it used to be, that all the head nods in the hallways and double-dates on Friday nights couldn’t bridge the fissure still gaping between them if neither of them were going to acknowledge that it existed.

But they were both good actors. And Veronica made it so _easy_ to pretend like everything was fine—sometimes, Archie even believed it really was. Maybe this, what he and Ronnie had, was enough. He could lose himself in her dark eyes and gleaming skin and irresistible, infectious energy, let all his doubts drip away like dew from summer grass. This, here, between them, was all he needed. And when that creeping feeling rose in the back of his mind, like something was missing, a vital piece left hollow, he’d shove the thoughts away and remind himself that with Veronica, he could— _would_ —finally be whole.

Yes. As long as he had Veronica, he’d be fine. Maybe not _happy_ , but he’d begun to accept that happiness wasn’t in the cards for him. Content, more like it, and that was okay. _He_ was okay.

And then, of course, Veronica dumped him.

~~***~~

Something warm touches his hand. _Veronica?_ Archie whirls, but it’s only Betty, bright eyed and clutching a glass of eggnog.

“Archie!” she cries, throwing her arms around his shoulders and nearly knocking him into Sweet Pea and Josie. They’re too engrossed in their White Christmas slowdance to notice, but Archie apologizes anyway before turning back to Betty with a surprised laugh.

“ _Someone’s_ having a happy holidays,” he grins, reaching out to steady her as she titters. He’d heard that her and Jughead’s breakup had been mutual, but apparently it was a lot more amicable than he’d assumed—her easy laugh and flushed cheeks betray none of the angst currently roiling through Archie.

“The house looks beautiful, Betts. Really, the place is…” he trails off, distracted by Betty’s wide grin. Archie’s no makeup expert, but the color of her gloss looks incredibly familiar—and is it _smudged_ outside her mouth? Even under the eggnog’s influence, Betty’s always way too meticulous in her application for that.

“Hm?” Betty asks absently, her eyes landing somewhere behind him as she breaks into a secret smile.

With dawning understanding, Archie follows her gaze, landing back on—Veronica.

The din of the room flattens. Veronica waves, her eyes crinkling into an expression of pure warmth as they meet Betty’s. Someone jostles him and Archie jumps, forgetting to breathe, Veronica’s soft smile hanging in his vision like an afterimage.

“Sorry, I—I need some air,” Archie hears himself say. Before Betty can respond, he’s ducking his head and moving blindly through the room, not daring to exhale until his palm connects with the cool metal of the door handle and he stumbles out onto the Cooper’s back porch.

“Wondering when I’d see you out here,” says Jughead.

***

Here’s the thing: before they were Archie & Veronica and Jughead & Betty, before they were a perfect quartet in a booth at Pop’s, before there was Miss Grundy and road trips and promises and Carol Anne—before all that, they were just Jughead and Archie.

They were a package deal. They were Archie not going to summer camp unless Jughead came too; they were the two of them insisting on joint birthday parties even when they were months apart. They were Jughead, in kindergarten, solemnly informing FP that he and Archie were gonna get married one day, because they’d learned in school that marriage was when you find your _special person_ and stay with them forever. (FP chuckling uncomfortably and reminding him that _boys don’t marry boys, son,_ but he’d sounded a little sad as he said it, face pulling down the way it sometimes did when he watched Archie’s dad say goodbye.)

They were simply _Archie and Jughead,_ together through a hundred scraped knees and broken wrists, through shouting matches and grudging apologies and bored Saturdays at the river banks and Drive-In movies in Fred’s truck and secrets whispered under the treehouse’s glow-in-the-dark stars.

And Archie was beginning to wonder just why he’d ever let himself lose sight of that.

***

His muscles tense. “Jughead,” Archie says, cautious, because he knows they’re not technically fighting anymore but he still can’t quite figure out how to act around him without the buffer of girlfriends.

If Jughead notices his hesitation, he doesn’t let on. “So you finally figured it out, huh?” he asks, unfolding his long limbs and straightening from his perch against the railing.

Archie’s stomach seizes. “Sorry?” he manages.

“Betty and Veronica.” Jughead nods toward the house. “They’ve been crazy about each other since they first met—can’t believe it took all of us this long to realize.”

 _Oh_. Archie relaxes slightly. “Right,” he says, rubbing his hands together against the chill, “guess some people just need time to figure it all out.”

Jughead gives a noncommittal grunt. “Sucks for you, though, right?” He tips his head up, eyes level with Archie’s while his voice takes on an edge. “Poor Archie. No more prom king and queen for him.”

Archie flinches at the venom laced in his words. “Jug, that’s not fair,” he says, but Jughead continues like he hadn’t heard him. He steps up until they’re level at the shoulders, close enough that Archie can see the snowflakes trapped in Jughead’s eyelashes and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“What’s it like, learning what the rest of us already knew? That you’re _not_  always the favorite? Not everybody’s automatic number one?” Jughead shakes his head and twists his lips into a mock pout. “I bet it _hurts_ , doesn’t it, Mister Golden Boy—”

“Enough,” Archie cuts in, voice hard, and Jughead finally stops. Archie watches the line of his throat as Jughead swallows thickly, face half-shadowed, half-illumined by the soft glow of Christmas lights.

For some reason, it makes it hard to keep track of his thoughts.

“You’re right to be mad at me,” Archie begins slowly, and Jughead’s eyebrows lift imperceptibly, like that’s not what he was expecting to hear. “I’ve fucked up a lot, okay? I get that. I ditched you over that summer. I hurt my dad. And then I used Veronica like a crutch, a way to keep from dealing with everything, which I’m beginning to think wasn’t exactly fair to her,” Archie says, and Jughead snorts. “I know I’ve got a lot of stuff to work through, but I want—no, I _need_ you, here, by my side, while I do it.” Archie forces himself to meet Jughead’s eyes, to search through those pools of nameless emotion for some hint he’s on the right track. “If that’s okay,” he adds softly.

Jughead looks away. The wind tugs at the loose pieces of hair peeking out from under his cap, and Archie has to fight the urge to tuck them back behind his ear. “Yeah,” Jughead says, his voice thick. “That’d be alright.”

Archie smiles.

A sudden roar from inside draws their attention to the glass doors. Back in the kitchen, under a dangling sprig of mistletoe, Betty has her legs hooked around Veronica’s waist and her fingers twined through her hair, the crowd cheering them on as they kiss.

Archie waits for the ensuing rush of desperate, bitter jealousy.

It doesn’t come.

“Looks like Riverdale’s found its new power couple,” Jughead remarks drily, and Archie surprises himself with a bark of laughter. Jughead eyes him for a moment and then joins in, the little clouds of their breath fogging against the glass.

They stay like that, watching the warm glow of the party in comfortable silence, for long enough that the motion sensor light above them winks out.

“Damn,” Jughead says, and Archie looks up at it, about to wave his arm when something hanging from the light catches his eye.

“Jug,” he nudges him, nodding at the mistletoe above.

“Oh,” says Jughead, eloquently. “Well—that’s—”

Archie cups his hand around Jughead’s jaw and silences him with a kiss.

It’s not a perfect storybook moment—Jughead jerks back in surprise before yielding into his lips, and at one point Archie accidentally knocks their teeth together—but that’s okay.

For once, Archie wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! and also thank you to mitski for two slow dancers which i definitely did not listen to 12 times in a row as i finished this... Thriving??  
> ANYWAY hope you all have a wonderful holiday season and as always i would love to hear from you if you have a chance to comment :-)


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